Audaces Fortuna Iuvat
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Buffy has never had a boyfriend whose hands were free of blood.
1. Audaces Fortuna Iuvat

**Title**: Audaces Fortuna Iuvat

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Prompt**: tth100 #06, Blood

**Summary**: BtVS, Boondock Saints. Buffy has never had a boyfriend whose hands were free of blood. 700 words.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; "Boondock Saints" (1999)

**Notes**: The title is Latin for "Fortune Favors the Bold". Both fortunes listed below are real, found at weirdfortunecookies dot com.

* * *

"Trust your intuition," Buffy read aloud, frowning at the red-stamped bit of paper that had tumbled out of her fortune cookie. "The universe is guiding your life."

Dawn, seated across the table from Buffy, snorted and nearly choked on her own takeaway. "'Between the sheets'?" she said incredulously, tacking on their traditional joke-phrase. Then her expression cleared, and she smiled wryly at her sister. "Actually, that might explain a lot about your love life."

Buffy rolled her eyes. That joke might have been funny a year ago, but it was in pretty poor taste now. "Considering that your love life is more or less the same as mine these days," she retorted, "you might want to rethink that whole throwing stones thing."

Dawn's giggles dwindled into a depressed sigh. "That doesn't make it any less true. How could they have kept it hidden from us all this time?"

Buffy gave her a brittle smile. "Two words, Dawnie. Slayer. Key."

Murphy McManus had been one of the few friends Faith had kept from her childhood years; the dark-haired Slayer had introduced him to Buffy when they'd passed through Boston looking for a wayward Chosen One. Murphy had been nothing like any of her previous boyfriends, but between the accent, the charm, and the skill 'between the sheets'...! She'd been swept off her feet, and when Dawnie had joined her in town several weeks later she'd been equally taken with Murphy's fraternal twin, Connor.

Unfortunately, the boys had been hiding secrets as dangerous as any of Buffy and Dawn's; four months after Buffy and Murphy first met, the police had burst into the McManus' apartment and arrested both brothers on several charges of murder. It had been like the morning after she'd slept with Angel all over again; in those first ugly moments, before Buffy realized just how long the boys had been playing vigilante, she'd even feared that they'd found out about her calling and, like Riley, tried to find a way to live up to it.

She'd been enjoying her life in Boston. As a semi-retired slayer who avoided the news and had a boyfriend that actually loved her, the most disturbing thing she'd faced in months was the possibility that yes, she might end up becoming her own sister's sister-in-law. That, and said sister's boyfriend's weird obsession with rope; if Buffy ever saw Connor carrying a loop of it anywhere near a bedroom containing her sister again, it would be too soon.

She took a deep breath and changed the subject. "So, what fortune did you get?"

Dawn cracked open her cookie, then spread the little curl of paper on the table and snorted. "Never wear your best pants when you go to fight for freedom."

Buffy blinked. "It does _not_ say that."

"It _so_ does," Dawn replied, turning it so her sister could see.

"Topical, much?" Buffy sighed.

"So, we are going to do it, then," Dawn said quietly, all traces of humor fading from her expression.

"What else can we do?" Buffy shrugged helplessly. "You saw the TV footage the same as I did; they think they're doing God's work, and their father's still out there. If we leave them, Il Duce's going to cause a bloodbath getting them out, but if we bust them free--"

Dawn nodded slowly. "Saints should be fighting demons, not people."

"You think they'll go for it?" Buffy bit her lip.

Dawn looked down. "Better question is, if they'll believe us." She shook her head. "They'd better. If they don't--" Her voice trailed off, and her hands shook where they were twined together on the table.

"I've never had a boyfriend whose hands were free of blood," Buffy said softly. "Maybe they do have a mandate-- maybe the Powers have been telling them what to do. Maybe they can sense evil, or there's some other explanation for it."

"And maybe they're just killers," her sister replied, voice thick with tears.

"Shh," Buffy said. "Don't think like that. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now--"

"We bust them out." Dawn nodded. "Okay. I can do this."

Buffy clasped her hand, then stood. "It's time to go."

--


	2. Arcana

**Title**: Arcana

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Prompt**: tth100 #59, Fight

**Summary**: BtVS, Boondock Saints. The McManus brothers blow off some steam in jail. 750 words.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; "Boondock Saints" (1999)

**Notes**: Sequel to "Audaces Fortuna Iuvat"; title is Latin for "Secrets".

* * *

"D'ye think they'll come?" Murphy asked quietly, staring out through the bars of their cell. It wasn't the same one they'd been in the night the dream first came to them; this was the first time they'd been back, in all the years since.

"What kind of question is that?" Connor asked, irritably, and whacked him on the arm. "'Course they'll come. They're friends with Faith, yeah?"

Murphy jostled him back, boxing him upside the ear. "Bit of a difference between her record and ours, don't ye think?"

"Only a matter o' degree," Connor argued. "Besides. They can't possibly be as innocent as all that. That trunk your girl brought by our place, the one we picked open when she'd gone out that afternoon..."

"What has that got to do with anything?" Murphy objected. "It's been months since then, and we've been watchin' the fuckin' papers every day; if they'd been out there usin' those weapons, don't ye think the bodies would be turnin' up by now?"

"And why'd ye take up with her at all, then?" Connor argued, thumping him again. "'She's got secrets of her own', ye said.' She'll understand.'"

"And why'd ye take up with her sister?" Murphy said, thumping him back. It wasn't like Connor hadn't agreed with him at the time!

"And what has that got to do with anything?" Connor said, shoving at with both hands this time. "Ye're not makin' any fuckin' sense!"

Murphy snarled and launched at him, and seconds later they were a tussle of flying arms and legs thrashing around on the narrow bed they'd been sitting on. It wasn't like the conversation had been going much of anywhere, and at least this way they'd burn up some of the frustrated energy that had been jangling at his nerves.

He got in a couple of good blows-- and took a couple, too-- before one of the cops noticed what was going on. If Greenly had still been there, or Duffy, or any of the others who'd been around when they'd killed those first two Russians all that time ago, they might have ignored it-- but then again, if any of their old friends had still been there, they'd never have been arrested at all. Even Smecker would be hard pressed to cover for them this time, especially if Da got impatient with the delay.

"Jesus Christ!" one of the detectives announced, pounding forward in a jingle of keys. "They're killing each other in there!"

Murphy got in one last jab to Connor's jaw, then turned toward the cell door as the cop fumbled with the lock. "Lord's fuckin' name!" he yelled back, and felt the rumble of his brother's voice against his chest as Connor echoed him.

Connor punched him again while he wasn't looking, and Murphy fell off the bed entirely. He glared up at his twin as the cop finally got the cell door open, anger and apology both mixed up in his gaze. Connor glared back, equally understanding and unrepentant-- and about that time, they realized that the rest of the jail had suddenly gone very quiet.

"What in the fuck...?" Connor blurted, staring at the unconscious form of the cop who'd been standing outside their cell.

Murphy staggered to his feet, then ran over to the door-- and stared as it came open under his hand. "Conn..."

"Less talking, more escaping!" a feminine voice echoed down the hall, and he turned to see the familiar figure of his girlfriend, an unfamiliar hardness in her eyes as she beckoned toward them. In one hand, she held a strange, glowing object; in the other, a bag full of what looked like his and Connor's guns. Behind her, he could see her sister, bent over one of the station's computers with another glowing object in hand.

"What in the fuck...?" he echoed his brother under his breath, then shoved the cell door open.

It looked like Connor'd had the right idea about the sort of thing their girlfriends were hiding, after all. But were their secrets at all compatible? He'd never thought it possible to have a completely open relationship, not since he and Connor had taken up the mantle of the Saints. Then again, he might still have to kill his girlfriend, did it turn out that she was pursuing evil.

Murphy shook his head and squelched the hope and dread warring in his heart, then ran out into the hall.

Connor, as always, ran right beside him.

--


	3. Aude Sapere

**Title**: Aude Sapere 

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: B:tVS, Boondock Saints. _Buffy was sick of death, disaster, and loss; she was heart-weary with guilt and sacrifice_. 1100 words.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; "Boondock Saints" (1999)

**Notes**: Follows "Audaces Fortuna Iuvat" and "Arcana". Title is Latin for "Dare to Know". Challenge fic.

* * *

Buffy waited until they were all safely in the designated getaway car-- with Dawn behind the wheel, Buffy riding shotgun beside her, and the boys in the back seat-- before shaking the glowing orb off of her hand to dismiss the concealment spell Willow had provided them with. Tomorrow, the cameras in the police station would only show the cops succumbing to a sudden drowsiness and dropping where they stood; the investigators would probably suspect some kind of foul play, especially since the brothers' cell would be empty, but there'd be no evidence for them to trace. Dawn had erased the pertinent data from the computers, and Buffy had collected the boys' gear; hopefully, their rumored contact in the FBI would be able to take care of anything the girls might have missed.

Buffy closed her eyes for a brief moment, allowing herself to feel relieved that they'd gotten to the jail before Il Duce had; from everything they'd found out about him since the boys were arrested, he was one seriously scary guy when put his mind to it. Then she took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at Murphy and Connor.

The McManus twins had been grimly silent since the moment they'd emerged from their cell. Normally, they'd have been cursing and joking and jostling each other in the midst of whatever they were up to, but tonight was anything but normal. Buffy took in the intent frown on the face of her sister's boyfriend, then took a deep breath and turned to Murphy, fearful of what she might find in his gaze.

His eyes, normally a warm, laughing blue that embraced her, his brother, and the whole world with wry, rough-edged good humor, had iced over; he was looking at her warily, head slightly cocked to one side, as though he'd never seen her before. As though she were a fascinating, and potentially dangerous, stranger. She'd seen that same look before, calculating and focused, in another pair of blue eyes belonging to another cigarette-smoking, hard-drinking, duster-wearing pain in her ass; Buffy's breath hitched in her chest as she recognized the expression, and for the first time since the whole nightmare began she found herself truly _believing_ that her loving boyfriend could be one of the bloody-handed Saints of urban legend.

I sure know how to pick 'em, she thought, as tears welled up unbidden in her eyes.

Murphy's expression softened a little at that, and he lifted one callused hand to cup the left side of her face, stroking the droplets of salty liquid away with his thumb. "No more secrets, then, yeah?" he said softly, watching her intently for her answer.

"No more secrets," she agreed quietly, trying desperately to cling to a hope that their relationship would survive the collision with reality better than any of her previous ones had. She was sick of death, disaster, and loss; she was heart-weary with guilt and sacrifice. She was starting to fear that the universe really did have it in for her, or at least the Powers in charge of it all; was this her payment for so thoroughly upsetting their millennia-long effort to maintain the status quo?

"It's about time," Dawn muttered, shooting a worried glance over at Buffy, then another at the rear-view mirror. "You guys got a safe place somewhere on this side of town, where we can talk?"

Murphy glanced at his brother; Connor glanced back, then nodded once. The lighter-haired brother set his left hand on Dawn's shoulder, rubbing the back of her neck with his thumb, and quoted a street number. "It's only a few blocks from here," he continued, somberly. "It's a rough part of town, but no one'll look for us there, and anyone that sees us won't tell."

"Good," Buffy said, and smiled crookedly at Connor. Murphy's opinion was the one that mattered most to her, but Connor was the one that tended to be the leader between the brothers; he'd be the one she'd have to put the most effort into convincing. And she might as well start with the openness, now.

"When we lived in Sunnydale," she continued, "I knew the rough side of town like the back of my hand-- the docks, the warehouses, the bars, and the graveyards-- but I don't know Boston all that well. I was kind of trying to retire."

"Retire?" Murphy said, surprise strengthening the Irish lilt in his voice. "Retire from what? Ye're only twenty-five." His caressing hand smoothed down the side of her face and throat to rest in the hollow between neck and shoulder, where the "Aequitas" tattoo across the back of his hand was just visible at the bottom edge of her vision.

Connor snorted. "From our kind of business, yeah?" he prompted his brother, shaking his head.

"No," Dawn spoke up sharply at that, as she took the next turn a little faster than recommended.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and spoke up quickly, eager to head off the **_We don't kill people_** she knew was hovering on her sister's tongue. It was easy to forget sometimes that Dawn was just barely out of her teen years; Buffy wasn't so far removed from them herself. But she'd finally learned, through hard experience, that reacting sharply out of your own hurt only made interpersonal problems worse.

"And yes," she said, firmly. "I spent seven years risking my life, almost every day, to fight evil in my home town. The cops thought I was in a gang; for several years, my mom thought I was a delinquent; and hardly anyone ever said _thank you_. I gave and gave and gave until I broke, and I buried-- way too many friends along the way. And then I had a chance to step back, and I said enough."

"Seven years," Murphy said, in a wondering tone, and glanced at Connor again.

"Seven years of destroying all that which is evil," Connor replied thoughtfully.

"So that which is good may flourish," Murphy replied, with a nod, as though reciting the second half of a familiar, worn phrase. Then he turned back to Buffy, and the difference in his eyes from the moment they'd first got in the car was like the first hint of sunrise after a long, black night of Slaying. There was something there that had been missing since the cops had dragged them away-- and if Buffy had to put a name to that something, she'd call it _hope_.

They just might survive the revelation of their secrets without destroying each other, after all.

(fin)


	4. Audi Alteram Partem

**Title**: Audi Alteram Partem

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T/PG-15

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _"So," she chirped, aiming a bland smile over Murphy's shoulder at Connor. "Time to make with the 'splainy."_ 2300 words.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; no comics; "Boondock Saints" (1999)

**Notes**: 4th in ficlet series. Title is Latin for "Hear the other side". Written for the August fic-a-day challenge.

* * *

The sign over the door of the bar read McGinty's in fading, gilded script. The door was locked due to the early hour, but Connor had a spare key; he fished it out of his pocket, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that no-one was watching, then let the four of them in and locked it up again behind them. The sound of the tumblers turning reminded Buffy of the jail cell they'd just broken the guys out of, and she shivered, rubbing empty palms against her upper arms.

The place was a little on the threadbare side: worn with heavy use, but clean, smelling of cigarette smoke and citrus-based cleanser. Buffy let her eyes drift around the main room as they stood in the entryway, taking in the scratched mirrors, half-empty bottles, worn stools, and the tiny chips and cracks left behind by a few bar fights too many-- the fingerprints of a rowdy, regular crowd. She couldn't help but wonder how many evenings Murphy and Connor had spent there before she and Dawn entered their lives; must have been a lot, if the owner was willing to trust them with the place when he wasn't around.

That was kind of irrelevant at the moment, though, much as she might like to revisit Egypt for a while. She took a deep breath, then turned to Murphy, wondering where on earth to start the conversation.

"Shh, not yet," he preempted her, pressing a finger against her lips as he stared calmly back. There was a waiting patience about him, something she'd never seen in him before, but which she recognized: that weighty kind of peace that came with knowing that a course had been committed to, and that all that was left was to let it play out. She was more used to experiencing it when facing Big Bads, though, not boyfriends, and the dissonance gnawed away at the kernel of hope she was trying to hold on to.

"Need to call Da first, then Smecker, before anything else is said," Connor explained, sliding around behind the bar. "Best we not leave 'em to find out the hard way."

"They haven't the discernment we do," Murphy added vaguely, lifting his gaze to lock with his brother's. "Things'll get messier the longer we wait."

A muscle jumped in Connor's jaw, but he didn't deny it. He shook his head, threw a quick glance in the direction of Dawn's hovering, wounded presence, then bent over the bar's phone and dialed a number. Buffy tuned him out, focusing on Murphy's face instead as he broke off their silent twin communication thing and turned back toward her. His eyes, too, lingered on Dawn for a moment.

"No, and yes, ye said," he murmured quietly, reaching for Buffy's hands. His palms and fingers were more callused than hers, roughened in patterns that suggested hard work as much as they did gunplay; she felt the gentle scrape over the backs of her hands as he ran his thumbs over them, and it sent a shiver up her spine. "The fighting ye spoke of; it was your task, not hers, then."

So they _had_ picked up on Dawn's distress at the idea of killing. But why would he ask that now, when he'd pointedly told her just a second ago that it wasn't time to put all the cards on the table yet?

The obvious answer was-- he believed it might be better if Dawn didn't participate in that conversation. Protecting his brother from her sister's potential reactions, sheltering her from having to share in front of Dawn if she didn't want to-- wherever Murphy thought he was going with that line of logic, the concern lurking in the line between his brows and the depths of his blue gaze made Buffy swallow hard.

'Saint' or not, he was still the good man she'd fallen for; she really believed that. And in that case-- there was something else he should know.

"It was," Buffy murmured in reply. "She was ten when I was Called; I was fifteen. I kept her out of it as much as I could, for five years-- and then we found out she had a destiny, too. And it wasn't the same as mine." She swallowed again, eyes stinging a little as painful memories welled up from the darker corners of her mind. No need to elaborate on the Glory/Key situation yet; she'd never been sure how the brothers' Catholic sensibilities would react to the whole evil-goddess thing, much less her own death and resurrection, and recent revelations had only muddied her ability to predict them.

"I tried to protect her, but-- ask your brother about her scars sometime. She knows how to handle herself now; she's not fragile, and she won't reject him out of hand. She's just--adjusting. We'd actually thought that we might get to live normal lives here." She forced a chuckle at that; sometimes you had to either laugh, or cry. "Give her a chance to take it all in."

Murphy nodded solemnly, furrow deepening between his brows, but seemed to accept her reasoning. "Sometimes I forget how young ye both are," he said, turning her hands over and stroking those roughened fingers across her palms. A spike of heat shot through her at the sensation.

"Not _that_ young," she said, drawing a ragged breath. Then she shook her head, dragging her mind away from what other sorts of comfort those hands could provide by main force.

His return smirk was dark and knowing; it forced Buffy to remind herself, again, that while it might be human to crave connection in the aftermath of turmoil and adrenaline, they weren't here as ordinary humans. They were here because of their _other_ aspects, all four of them, and had more important matters to discuss.

It had been a long time since she'd last deliberately slipped into the skin of The Slayer: she who stood against the darkness, who had no friends, who lived for the kill and slept on a bed of bones. She'd always fought those instincts, but that didn't mean they weren't there, thousands of years of encoded spiritual framework affecting the woman within more than she'd care to admit. Right now, though, the emotional insulation that came with that immediacy of awareness was a welcome relief from the turmoil of the 'normal girl' she'd been trying so hard to become.

"So," she chirped, aiming a bland smile over Murphy's shoulder at Connor, who'd finished his conversation and hung up the phone. "Time to make with the 'splainy."

Connor exchanged another glance with Murphy, then nodded. "Beer first," he said, reaching under the bar and coming up with several bottles, two dark glass necks wedged between the fingers of either hand. "I'm thinkin' it'll all go down better with a little help."

Buffy was tempted to veto the idea-- she'd never found alcohol to be particularly helpful in anything other than fun-having, and sometimes not even then-- but Dawn grabbed one the minute he opened it with a defiant glint in her eye, and Buffy didn't want to turn the discussion into a fight before it had even begun. With a sigh, she accepted one as well, then followed the brothers to the nearest table. They waited for she and Dawn to sit, then slid into the chairs opposite, expressions drawn in solemn lines.

Buffy eyed them a moment, then sighed and took a drink, getting into the spirit of it. The beer was weirdly warm, the way Spike drank it sometimes; but it tasted better than she'd been expecting. "So," she said, meaningfully. "Seven years."

Connor nodded. "Aye. We've always had, well-- let's call it a _sense_ about people. Murph and I, we could tell the ones that'd crossed a line and not regretted it-- not that we knew what that line might be, nor what it meant, when we were wee ones."

"We just knew that we were better off avoiding certain people," Murphy said with a shrug. "Not why, nor what that sense was for. Not until much later."

"In the meantime, our mother insisted we get a good education, pushed us at every opportunity to come our way. Said she didn't want us followin' our father's path just because that was all we knew," Connor added.

Buffy'd heard that part before, when they'd first found out just how many languages the McManus brothers spoke. It was an interest Dawn shared with them; one that had made Buffy jealous for a while, until she'd found her own non-romantic niches to bond with them over. What she _hadn't_ heard before was just what path Murphy and Connor's father had taken, exactly, other than that it had ended with him in jail. Knowing now that their father was _Il Duce_-- well, it wasn't hard to see why their mother might have been worried.

"And what path was that _exactly_," Dawn said roughly, "other than just-- killing people." Her voice was firm, but her eyes were wide and wet; she wanted to believe in the boys as much as Buffy did.

"Not just _people_, Dawn," Connor said, reaching across the table for her hand. "Those that _deserve_ it. The corrupt. The ones who kill, who rape, who take bread from the mouths of others-- who know themselves to be doing wrong, and do it _anyway_."

"Want, take, have," Buffy muttered under her breath, suddenly grateful that Faith had been far from her childhood friends when she'd gone through her light-fingered, world-hating phase.

"God gives us what power we have, each and every one of us, to help others, not harm them," Murphy nodded. "Da doesn't have quite the same Calling we do, but even before he found us, the hits he took were only on criminals, and never women or children. Only those as betrayed not only the laws of society, but those they were meant to protect."

"So we learned guns, from our uncles; languages, from our mother; and discernment, from that special gift that belonged to just the pair of us," Connor continued the tale. "And when we woke up from the same dream one morning after killing that pair of Russians in self-defense-- well. We knew our Purpose, and we've never looked back since."

"Whosoever shed man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed, for in the image of God made He man," Murphy added.

"Destroy that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish," Connor confirmed.

That part, they'd said earlier in the car; it had sounded just as quote marked then, as though it were an oft-repeated phrase. Or a prophecy.

Stupid prophecies; Buffy might have known she'd never be able to get away from them.

"And that sense thing tells you which ones to-- _shed_, and which to let go?" she asked, thinking about her own intermittent success with the so-called 'Slayer sense', and how human some demons could look before they split their faces open and tried to eat you alive.

She'd already, long ago, made the leap of admitting that just because some demons didn't have the same type of soul as a human, that didn't mean they were automatically evil. She hadn't wanted to; but that hadn't made it any less true, in the end. Was it so much of a leap to look at things the other way around? She couldn't help but see the deputy mayor's shocked, dying face whenever she thought about killing _people_-- but then again, Caleb had been people before he'd been possessed, and Ben had been people, and she didn't kid herself anymore about what had happened to Glory's 'brother' after she'd turned her back on him. One of the other Scoobies had killed him, though she'd never bothered to find out which.

She'd be a hypocrite to damn her boyfriend and his brother just for doing what she hadn't been able to do herself-- what she'd depended on someone else to take care of, to keep her own hands clean.

Provided, of course, that they were telling the truth...

"Yes," Connor answered her. "Mostly Mafia at first. More Russians, some Italians our friend Rocco turned us onto, before they found out and killed _him_. Since then, we've had a little help from the inside, pointin' us to the nasty ones that would walk free if we didn't stop 'em."

"And have you ever _not_ killed someone you were pointed to?" Dawn spoke up, again.

"A few times," Murphy said, frowning in distaste. "Not that they were innocents, exactly, but they certain sure weren't guilty of the crimes they were accused of."

"And one or two that felt honest remorse." Connor shrugged. "It's rarer than ye'd think, but some truly do repent of their crimes."

In other words-- they dealt with the evil in the hearts of men, the way Buffy and the Scoobies had dealt with the kind that didn't need hearts for dwelling in, just for eating and sacrificing. Which meant-- which meant that this just might work, after all; if she and Dawn took them out on patrol, they wouldn't even have to ask what they were fighting, they'd already _know_. They'd feel it.

Would they feel the difference in Angel, too? Or certain other of her reformed, less-than-human ex-boyfriends?

"And some that aren't even men," she agreed, glancing pointedly at her sister.

Something shifted in Dawn's eyes, then; an acceptance that hadn't been there before, though she didn't say the name aloud.

Buffy nodded, then turned back to Murphy. "So let's say we believe you," she began. "Let's say we even accept it."

"Let's say your story's at least as unbelievable as ours?" he replied, warily.

"Let's say," she nodded, and took a deep breath.

-~-


	5. Amor Vincit Omnia

**Title**: Amor Vincit Omnia

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _Whatever else they were, they were still Buffy and Murphy first; maybe her cookies had finally finished baking._ 850 words.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS post-"Chosen"; no comics; "Boondock Saints" (1999)

**Notes**: Originally posted to LJ on Feb 28. I'd still kind of like to move this 'verse plotward someday? But for now I thought I'd wrap up the character arc, as I was reminded of it again by meeting the boys at Portland Comic Con. Title is Latin for "love conquers all".

* * *

Boston was soot-stained stone and rain-worn brick and rusting iron, glass and steel and living green and a shifting tapestry of accents. Old and new all at once, somewhere between California and Scotland in terms of pages in the history books, but at the same time more intense, more textured than anywhere else Buffy had ever lived. She felt suddenly dizzied by the solid familiar _presence_ of the place, gazing up into the pewter sky outside McGinty's, and had to wonder what was up with that. She'd just found out that her boyfriend- and her sister's- were the so-called Boondock Saints; so why should she still feel like she belonged in their city more than she ever had anywhere else?

It wasn't as if it was the first time Buffy had found out that her lover was a killer, and she'd done the secret identity waltz before, too. But somehow, she just didn't feel as... _betrayed_ as she had those other times, and the contrast was giving her a wiggins. It felt more like a tingle in her chest, like nerves gone numb with shock slowly waking back up, than the wrenching burn of a heart torn to pieces. Was she just jaded? Had she lost her touch when she left the Council behind her? Or were the MacManuses just an exception to yet another rule?

...Or maybe it was just that she'd finally met a lover on equal ground. Buffy Summers had been a society princess before becoming the One Girl in All the World, and after seven years of _that_ she'd taken up the mantle of Queen Slayer. Until she'd come to Boston, she'd never managed to shake that privileged framework. And none of her four official boyfriends had stood on anything close to the same level; either from their side or hers, there'd been a lot of condescending going on in those relationships, and that wasn't even getting into her one-date blunders.

Murphy MacManus might not be able to match her for supernatural strength. But that had never been the basis of _their_ romance; in every way that mattered, he'd always walked _beside_ her before today. And nothing about that had changed, looking back on it with clearer eyes, except maybe to draw them closer. When she'd looked at him after sharing their stories, she'd seen a man who'd stared down the barrel of his own death, who would sacrifice _everything_ for family, and who _believed_ in doing what had to be done, no matter the cost. It was almost like looking into a mirror.

Except for one thing... Buffy had forgotten how to live in the moment, those last couple of years in Sunnydale. How to laugh, and love, and make joy, if she couldn't find it. Murphy never had, and it was one of the qualities that had always drawn her to him, long before she'd known his full history.

She reached out to him cautiously, slipping her small, strong fingers in amongst his... and smiled in relief as he squeezed them together, a quick pulse of acknowledgement and comfort. Whatever else they were, they were still Buffy and Murphy first; maybe her cookies had finally finished baking.

"...So, I don't suppose these fuckin' demons of yours ever work _with_ evil men?" he finally said, in his lilting accent. "Because that would actually explain a great deal."

Buffy blinked at him- then caught her breath as long-slumbering instincts, already stirred up by the conversations inside the bar, perked up and took notice. Evil men working with demons! Her palms suddenly itched for a stake more than they had in months. Angel's little pocket war in L.A. had stirred up just such a hornet's nest; she remembered what had happened to Faith, Fred, Wes, and especially Cordelia... and found herself strangely comfortable with the idea of coming back out of retirement to use a certain bunch of soulless lawyers as a test case.

She still had a problem with the idea of killing humans herself, and doubted that would ever change, given her history. But she thought it might compare to how she'd felt about Oz' time in the Initiative's care, versus Ethan Rayne's; she'd had absolutely no problem holding a crossbow to a Colonel's head to steal her innocent friend back from Riley's old employers, but she'd never blamed Giles for turning his chaos-worshipping old friend over to the same government flunkies. Holding evil men responsible for what they'd done- as long as she wasn't the one holding the gun, she could deal.

She glanced over her shoulder to where Conner and Dawn were walking behind them. Her sister's body language was a little more tentative than usual, but still- _leaning_, like in that Sandra Bullock movie. She was pretty sure Dawn would be on board with that, too.

_To each according to his ability_: wasn't that from one of those old Sunday School parables? Maybe it was time to trust her intuition, like the fortune cookie had said.

"I don't suppose you've ever heard of a law firm called Wolfram and Hart?" she replied.

-x-


End file.
